


Tethered To

by bluefallenfandomwallflowers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel's Grace, Confused Castiel, Disoriented Castiel, Emotional Manipulation, Grace Feeding, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Major Manipulation, Making Out, Possessed Dean Winchester, Post-Season/Series 13, Sad Sam Winchester, Sigils, Spells & Enchantments, brain washing, nothing freaky though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefallenfandomwallflowers/pseuds/bluefallenfandomwallflowers
Summary: He can feel Michael’s stare, his patience steady in a battle they both know Castiel will lose. He opens his eyes, and no, Castiel can’t kill him.“If stopping you means killing Dean, then I can’t do it,” Castiel admits. The blade slips, and it clamors to the floor and Michael smiles.





	Tethered To

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me before even the finale ran, but as of now, I have no clue if this is a piece of shit or not. *shrugs* not to be one of those authors, or to try and gain sympathy but literally just because I wrote it then read it a week later and was like "wut" but hey, if yall end up enjoying it, let me know!
> 
> <3

It’s been one week since everything fell apart.

Castiel is in Dean’s room, tucked in one of his t-shirts when Michael finally appears.

A small gasp escapes him, back hitting the wall next to the dresser.

A smile appears on Michael’s- _Dean’s_ \- face, and it makes his heart ache.

Dean has always been unbelievably gorgeous, fitting the highest standards of human beauty, but for the duration of Castiel knowing him, he has always been… Dean.

Even as a demon, it was _his_ soul, corrupted by the Mark.

Now, it’s Michael, locked in Dean’s body, hands clasped behind his back.

He laughs, and no, it’s nothing like the man Castiel loves.

“I should have known,” Michael says, head tilting.

Castiel stays quiet, digging his nails into his palm. His angel blade is on the other side of the room, along with his usual attire. He’s in jeans Sam and Dean bought for him years prior, and Dean’s t-shirt is one he has borrowed from time to time; during recovery, depression, PTSD flashbacks… It keeps him sane. Reminds him of the good.

At least Michael has dressed in an outfit Dean would probably never deem appropriate for himself. It helps Castiel differentiate.

Michael turns his gaze away, walking slowly around the room. He examines the picture of the Winchester family, fingers turning over the happy faces of a youthful Mary, a normal John, a loving child. “This world is so different,” he murmurs. “Much more beautiful, serene. Sinful, I must admit, but indulgent. This will be my second chance.”

Castiel tenses when he hears the lilt of Dean’s voice protruding from the vowels, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. His eyes catch the hilt of his blade. Micheal’s back turns further towards him as he studies Dean’s desk, and Castiel makes his move.

Almost throwing himself over the bed, Castiel is graceful as he rolls and scoops up his blade, back now at the other wall, pointing his weapon at Michael who doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

He actually begins to chuckle, monotonously. “You humor me. We both know you won’t do anything with that.”

Michael begins striding towards Castiel, and his breath hitches. Green eyes, bow lips, such familiarity, and it hurts.

“Please. I absolutely _beg_ of you to stab me,” Michael says softly. Condescending.

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut.

“Do it.”

He remains silent.

At once, Michael is shifting in front of him, and then their chests are touching and _fuck_ , those are _Dean’s_ lips dragging, feather light, over his ear. “I know you won’t do it, Castiel,” Michael whispers. “You're weak in the throes of unrequited love, and you wouldn’t dare.”

_This isn’t Dean. This isn’t Dean._

Castiel’s mind is whirring, spinning so out of control, more so when Michael presses flush against him and breathes.

“Dean,” Castiel begs, hoping to get through, but all it does is garner a roaring laugh from Michael.

“You really think you can get to him? Oh Castiel, I knew you were weak, but dumb? He doesn’t love you _back_ , you stupid angel.”

Castiel’s heart pounds, and his palm is sweaty from gripping his blade so tightly, and he moves it forward, the tip almost touching Michael’s side.

“Hmm?”

He can feel Michael’s stare, his patience steady in a battle they both know Castiel will lose. He opens his eyes, and no, Castiel can’t kill him.

“If stopping you means killing him, then I can't do it,” Castiel admits. The blade slips, and it clamors to the floor and Michael smiles.

“I know. That’s why you will be of use to me.”

Narrowing his eyes, Castiel examines his brother. “What are your intentions? With me and the rest of the world?”

“You will see what this universe holds for me soon enough, brother. But for now…” Michael stoops and slides Castiel’s blade up into his sleeve. “ _We_ have work to do.”

He presses two fingers to Castiel’s forehead and everything washes away.

 

-

 

Castiel wakes to Sam’s prayer. _”Cas? Where are you?”_

His mind feels stuffy, his mouth cotton, and that’s when he realizes—he’s been drained of his grace.

Not completely, no, there are still dredges left swirling around, but Castiel didn’t have much strength within his power to begin with, and until it heals itself to a full dosage, he is basically human.

The scent of fresh air and pine needles meets him, and Castiel tries to understand his surroundings.

He’s tied to a bed by his right wrist, but loosely, and his legs are free.

When Castiel tries to sit up, his body is struck with a numb feeling, and he flops back onto a soft pillow, suddenly exhausted.

Where has Michael taken him?

Turning his head, Castiel recognizes a vast forest lying beyond huge windows that take up the portion of a wall. Most of them are open, too, and although it smells fresh and wonderful, his anxiety rises.

Castiel has come to realize that as a human, he tends to deal with a large amount of anxiety, and it makes him want to get out of his own head. His limbs hurt from exertion that Castiel doesn’t understand, and he’s hungry.

His prison cell seems to be of someone’s bedroom. A few picture frames line a long dresser; a family of four, the children looking older. Castiel wonders if they are on vacation. Or, if Michael…

The Michael from the Apocalypse universe seems to be much more of an anomaly than the one Castiel is familiar with. Perhaps steadier in his lust for power and obedience, but his intentions are still a complete mystery.

His intentions with _Castiel_ are even more puzzling.

For another hour, Castiel drifts in and out of sleep, his body still under the impression of exhaustion that is probably being brought on by Michael’s grace. Maybe he was drugged by human resources. Either way, Castiel can’t bring himself to untie his wrist.

Night approaches, the trees beyond the room casting strange shadows.

Castiel is just starting to let go of consciousness again when a flurry of wings rouse him.

He swallows, staring at Michael who is standing at the foot of the bed, eyeing him.

It’s not hard to imagine that it’s _Dean_ staring at him. As if Castiel were here waiting for him, a lover curled up on the bed, completely submissive.

“Michael, why did you—my grace—” Talking makes Castiel fall into utter exhaustion again, and he goes a little limp, unable to keep up his head.

Michael is by his side then, tilting up his chin. “What I require from you is assistance. But I also need an extra dose of grace to keep myself sharp, and you… well, to keep you from getting any ideas.” He smiles, and Castiel’s eyes droop.

“What do you want?” Castiel breathes.

“You would never kill Dean. We both know this. I’m sure many others do as well. Which makes you the perfect confidant.”

Castiel’s heart pounds. Of course. Michael would use Castiel’s weakness for Dean, his _love_ , so overwhelming, to his own advantage.

It hurts because it’s true.

There have been times where Dean himself has told Castiel to kill him, and he has been unable to do so.

Michael must see the realization in Castiel, because after two fingertips are pressed to his forehead, he is suddenly awake and gasping for air. He grips his chest, dizzy for a second, before focusing completely on Michael.

“So you understand, I presume?” Michael’s eyes flash, green to a grace-powered blue, quickly, and Castiel aches.

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good.” Castiel shudders, tenses, when Michael gets close to him, slapping his cheek lightly. “Then you’re my number one angel, _Castiel_.”

Michael says his name just like Dean, and Castiel sobs.

-

Castiel’s a prisoner, as he walks freely down a street darkened by clouds steaked across the moon, and the human blade hidden in the band of his jeans is cold on his skin.

Michael will fly in soon enough, but this is a test, to see whether Castiel will be pushed across his own moral ground.

An innocent, a human, whose life has been put in Castiel’s hands.

It isn’t even a man who has murdered or scammed or assaulted.

He should be getting married in a month, but Michael claims to see part of the future, and this man is the key to something he isn’t fond of occurring within the business world. What the angel knows of this, Castiel doesn’t know.

It’s all a part of a plan, though, to deplete the race of sin, or the race altogether, and to become the ruler of everything else. Perhaps to simply start anew.

Castiel doesn’t know what Michael does while he is kept chained to the bed in an unknown forest, but there are times when Michael comes back with blood on his hands-- _Dean’s hands_ \-- and before snapping himself clean, he runs his fingers delicately over Castiel’s cheek.

Michael has slowly learned how to break Castiel apart, and his newfound humanity has brought the heavy PTSD back, the nightmares, the anxiety that makes his body ache.

Castiel selfishly prays Dean isn’t watching from behind his own eyes.

He spots the man—Lucas— exiting a hardware store, whistling. Lucas turns a corner that leads to a darkened alley, and Castiel moves swiftly.

Lucas is rifling through a plastic bag of parts when Castiel shoves him to the ground. His fists pummel bruises and blood out of the man who is yelling, begging, scared rather than angry, and the tears come.

Castiel wedges the blade from the small of his back and it shakes violently as he says, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over again.

But he can’t bring himself to do it.

That’s when the feathers come and Michael is at his back, gripping the hand Castiel has on the blade. “Do it.”

“I- I can’t. He did nothing wrong--”

“ _You’re_ wrong, Castiel. He, including the rest of the filthy humans on this earth, have sinned. They need to be expelled from existence.” Michael’s tone is angry, but the hand he uses to clutch the blade in Castiel’s hand and the arm he circles around Castiel’s waist is gentle and almost adoring.

“You know I’m right,” Michael continues, tone lighter.

Castiel heaves, and the man below him is still begging, but he’s hurt and tired.

“Would you rather Dean be the one to kill this man?”

Castiel’s body is swept into a numbness as cold as winter, and he shakes his head violently. “God, no, please don’t--”

“Then do it yourself,” Michael demands. “At any point, I could take this knife and stab him and he would die. Be sent to Hell, or the Empty, because he most certainly won’t be entering Heaven. Especially if I then kill you and Heaven falls.”

Castiel hates him.

But Castiel loves Dean, because it’s always been Dean, and not until now has he realized the extent of what he would do for him.

Perhaps that’s wrong.

Because if killing Dean is the right thing to do, Castiel isn’t as good as he thought.

And yet he doesn’t care.

With Michael’s thumb and forefinger still wrapped over his hand, Castiel plunges the knife down into Lucas’s heart.

The light fades from Lucas’s eyes faster than Castiel thought it would, and he’s soaked in blood by the end and Michael is praising him, lips moving over the back of his neck.

As Castiel goes limp, exhausted, from both murdering Lucas and Michael’s grace, he’s aware of Michael’s body twitching.

 

-

Michael doesn’t kill angels.

Instead, he locks them away in Heaven itself, with Castiel by his side.

He has switched from his dark coat and cap to cream suspenders and parted hair. He keeps Dean’s growing facial hair clean and cut, and he has his hands on Castiel as much as possible.

Castiel knows. He _knows_ it’s part of the control, the game, of Michael conditioning him, but Castiel is so weak under Dean’s body, because Dean is in there somewhere and even if he doesn’t love him the way he wants him to, having his touch on his human body is overpowering.

He doesn’t doubt that that is a reason Michael has kept quiet in taking Castiel’s grace. Humans crave touch and love, and Michael is educated in the matter. But Castiel also knows that another angel’s grace can turn into a drug. No wonder Lucifer was so addicted. Michael has only taken his grace once since Castiel woke up in the bed, flicking his blade over Castiel’s throat and letting the grace come to him.

But by the end Michael was so, so close to him, almost taking it all, stopping just in time.

How far is he willing to go when Castiel is no use to him anymore?

As Heaven flickers around them, Michael stands behind Castiel, one hand perched on his shoulder. “Do you see, Castiel? Heaven is dying. We must rejuvenate it.”

Unfortunately, Michael’s plan for Heaven is one that Castiel can’t disagree with.

When Heaven falls, all the angels within this realm disappear with it.

“What do you plan to do?” Castiel asks quietly, mind sticky with Michael’s grace.

“I’m going to bring my angels into this world.”

Castiel’s mouth parts. “You…”

“Yes. That world is lost. That universe is completely dysfunctional, Castiel, there is nothing left of it. As I’ve said, this is my second chance. A brand new opportunity to make everything right. Exactly as it should be. We can’t do that without Heaven.”

Castiel hates that he believes Michael to be right in terms of saving Heaven.

Is that his own thought? Or is it Michael’s corruption finally filtering into his mind?

It doesn’t matter what he thinks, in the end. Michael will force him to do whatever he pleases and Castiel will oblige as long as Dean is safe.

“What do you need me to do?”

Michael seems pleased that Castiel himself has asked, and Castiel’s heart involuntarily quakes when Michael’s lips move over the shell of his ear. His legs grow weak, and more of Michael’s grace sweeps inside of him, sickly sweet, making him feel light and airy.

“I need you to go retrieve the blood of the most holy man.”

“Will you be sending me to his church? Do I- do I have to kill him?”

Michael shakes his head. “No, we will need him to stay alive for as long as possible. His blood may be of more use as time goes on. No, Castiel. I need you to retrieve the blood from the Winchester’s safe haven.”

Castiel’s anxiety floods him.

_Sam._

“How do you expect me to proceed?”

“Ah, you mean if the young one happens to interfere?”

Castiel waits.

Michael sighs into Castiel’s hair.

“Kill him, of course.”

-

Michael gives him clear instructions, although Castiel’s mind is murky.

He stumbles to the entrance of the bunker, Michael having dropped him off much too literally, to Castiel’s chagrin.

It’s strange, Michael offering such a great amount of trust in Castiel performing this task, when Sam may be the defying force that could pull Castiel back into his own head, apart from Dean.

Castiel has never prayed so vehemently, begging that Sam is elsewhere and that he can get in and get out, a thief in the night.

He creeps into the bunker, where the lights are dimmer, and everything is silent.

Castiel doesn’t quite know where Father Luca’s blood is, since it is no longer sitting out in the open in the library. Rather, books have flooded the area and after checking a dozen or so, he realizes they all deal with angels.

Sam is desperate.

And of course he is searching for every possible alternative, every possible spell to expel Michael from his brother’s body.

That thought in and of itself clears Castiel’s mind so thoroughly, that he falls to his knees, breathing hard. Michael’s grace is actually fighting his own thoughts, but…

_Dean, Dean, Dean_

“Cas?”

Oh no.

Castiel looks up, and Sam is standing there, wide-eyed.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Castiel says heavily, chest aching. “Leave, Sam, please. You need to go. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

But Sam has never followed directions, and he kneels next to Castiel, checking him for injuries, before deeming him huggable.

“Fuck, Cas. Where have you been? We’ve all been so worried.”

“Michael… He- he--”

Sam understands without further explanation, and Cas falls into the younger Winchester’s shoulder, a tear slipping down his face.

“Please, Sam, _please_ , he will make me kill you. Or he will kill you himself, and I can’t let that happen, you mean too much.”

“What do you mean? Is he coming back?”

Castiel nods, although Michael’s timing is never ideal. He wouldn’t doubt Michael giving him the reprieve of being safe here with Sam and Jack and Mary and then yanking him right back into his bidding. That murky feeling is still sitting on the edge of his mind, but with Sam here, the bunker surrounding him, the familiar idea of Dean sitting at a table with a sweating beer in his hand, Castiel is clearer than he has been since Michael took him.

“Sam. I need Father Luca’s blood,” Castiel says.

“What? Why?”

“I didn’t tell you and- and your brother,” Castiel begins, weak and unable to say Dean’s name out loud, “but there are less than a dozen angels left in this universe, Sam.”

Sam gasps, letting Castiel move away so they can look at each other. “Oh Cas…”

“If more angels die, Heaven will fall, and we will all disappear and the souls… I don’t even…”

There is a moment of silence while Castiel breathes, while Sam takes it in.

“Michael is going to bring the angels from the other universe here, isn’t he?”

Castiel nods again. “I don’t know what to do, Sam. If Heaven falls… This universe may fall with it.”

The extent of Sam’s choice is an obvious complication within him, his face full of worry.

“Did Michael say to kill me if I didn’t give it to you?”

“Yes.”

Sam stands, helping Castiel up too, and they look at each other.

“I’m too weak to kill him, Sam,” Castiel confesses in the faintest whisper, looking at Sam in apology.

Sam’s worry falls to sympathy, and then empathy, because he has been put in the same position countless times.

“I know. I know, Cas. I’m so sorry.”

“I have to go back to him,” Castiel says. “I have to make sure Dean is safe.”

“I- I understand.” Sam’s face falls again. He walks over to one of the bookshelves and inside a hollowed-out dictionary sits Father Luca’s blood.

He hands the thin vial to Castiel slowly, eyes almost regretful. “Take it. Save Heaven. But after that, we have to save Dean. And not just that… But everyone else.”

“The usual,” Castiel quips, smiling slightly.

“Exactly.”

He hugs Sam tightly before turning to leave, slipping the blood into his pocket.

But before he can take another step, the bunker door slams open, smoke rolling from the doorway, and standing there is Michael, face impassive.

“What did I tell you, Castiel?” His voice booms throughout the room, despite it being asked almost nonchalantly.

Castiel’s body tenses and he steps in front of Sam. “He didn’t try to stop me, Michael. He gave it to me freely. There is no reason to kill him.”

Michael laughs deeply. With a heavy flutter, Michael has disappeared from the ledge and is now in front of Castiel.

With an angry growl, Sam pushes Castiel to the side, and he falls. “Sam! No!” But Sam has an angel blade and he lunges at Michael, both of them landing heavily on the map table.

Castiel makes himself stand, pulling himself over to where Sam is wrestling around with Michael, attempting to stab him somewhere that would be nonfatal. But Michael is much stronger, and when he flicks his hand out, Sam goes flying, landing at the entrance of the library above the steps.

“Very good try,” Michael says, grinning menacingly, standing, straightening his clothes. He’s back in his dark coat, his hat, and when his blade falls into his hand, Castiel runs towards him, begging.

“Please don’t do this, Michael. Sam is no threat.”

“No threat?” Michael laughs, shaking his head. “Castiel, you’re delusional. Sam Winchester is the only thing in my way.”

Castiel has hit a low point, but Dean isn’t the only one he loves deeply. It may be in quite a different sense, but Sam is his family. His brother. His friend.

He slides to the floor, gripping Michael’s legs, forehead on his thigh. “Michael, you can’t kill Sam Winchester. If- if you do, Dean will only fight harder. He will always resist. He will never give up, and believe me, he will overcome you in some way if you harm his brother. Look at all the others before, Michael, see that Dean is stronger than you think. If Sam were to die…” Cas looks up at Michael, breathing hard. “Please.”

Michael moves his eyes from Sam to Castiel slowly, and his eyebrows rise. His body twitches, and he grits his teeth. “Stop it, Dean,” he suddenly hisses, and Castiel could sob.

“See? You haven’t even killed Sam and he is strong, resisting.” Castiel must seem like an utter fool. Begging like this. He wonders if Sam has the wrong impression of him as he does this, as if the only thing that matter is Dean’s compliance.

But looking back at Sam, he sees Sam give him an approving nod, even if it full of sadness, guilt.

“Don’t kill him, Michael. For the sake of _all_ of us,” Castiel says.

Michael is still gritting his teeth, but he sets his shoulders, head twitching. Then suddenly it stops, and his eyes flash a neon blue for a quick second. “Perhaps you are right, Castiel.”

Rising slowly, Castiel presses his palm to where Dean’s heart lies. He closes his eyes, so utterly relieved. “Thank you.”

Castiel turns to Sam, and he is struck with emotion at the sobs leaving Sam. Tears pour from his eyes, and he’s so grievingly mad. “Give me my brother back, you dick,” he says, standing with fists locked at his sides. Blood streams from his temple. He looks like a desperate man.

Michael’s hand rests on Castiel’s side. He can feel Michael’s smile, power like electricity, and the lights flash.

Then they vanish.

-

Castiel is on the bed, and Michael is over him, nuzzling grace into his body, keeping him numb and confused.

“Stop,” Castiel murmurs, head rolling across the pillow.

Michael just smirks. “No.”

-

They stand at the center of Heaven’s throne room, and Castiel is the one preparing the spell while Michael watches from the throne.

Castiel has been having to remind himself more and more often that this _isn’t Dean_.

Michael never smiles at him, perhaps a lot like Dean would, but Dean never touches him as much as Michael does, and yet it’s familiar.

An addiction, a drug.

With both of them receiving guilty pleasures, it’s hard to see a way out.

He crushes the fruit into the bowl before adding a small amount of the Father’s blood. Castiel gestures for Michael, and without thinking about it, cuts him gently on the neck, his grace filling the vial in his hand. He then smooths the cut away with the grace that has been replenishing itself over time.

After this, Michael will likely drain him again to the dimmest tendril, to fill himself up after his own loss, and to keep Castiel compliant. It’s easier to pull himself out of the murky hold of Michael’s grace with more of his own, and Michael most certainly doesn’t want that.

Castiel’s peers at his fingers. Dean’s blood. He stares until Michael taps it away and drags his fingertips over Castiel’s forehead, pushing a tiny amount of grace into him. Groaning, Castiel grips the table and if it weren’t for Michael, he’d collapse.

Sometimes it’s just too much.

“Go on,” Michael says-- _Dean’s voice_ \-- and Castiel nods slowly, pouring the vial of Michael’s grace into the bowl.

It swirls, lighting up, and it’s beautiful.

“I hope I am able to do this,” Castiel says.

Michael waits.

Holding the Seal of Solomon above the bowl, Castiel recites, “ _Koth Munto Notox._ ”

He points the Seal towards the corner of the room and purple light flashes. The rift cracks into being, and Castiel feels winded. He crouches, breathing heavily.

“Stand, Castiel.” Michael touches his head and he’s happy to be energized.

He almost says thank you, looking into those beautiful green eyes, but Castiel swallows all words and waits for instruction, a little shaky.

Michael’s feelings are unclear as he gazes at Castiel. “You are nothing like the other Castiel I once knew.”

Castiel simply says with the highest conviction, “Love is what separated us.”

“Hmm.” Michael may be intrigued by the notion, but he grips Castiel’s arm and before he knows it, he is delving back into the universe he thought he had finally left behind.

-

At first the angels eye him with distrust.

That is until Michael makes it clear that Castiel is on their side and not going anywhere anytime soon, and then suddenly it’s as if Castiel is second in command. It makes him uncomfortable, remembering all of the other times he has failed at being a leader, at having power.

He leans in the shadows while Michael addresses the angels, telling him of his plan and of the other world, and all of it’s beauty. His second chance.

All Castiel can think of is how beautiful _Dean_ is.

It could be Dean talking, stern and serious, giving orders and expecting them to be followed. His voice is exact, although his facial features are not as discerning. He usually remains impassive. Dean, on the other hand, wore his feelings like an article of clothing, even if no one else noticed.

Castiel can’t stop staring at his hands.

After the meeting has adjourned, Michael orders everyone to pack up everything necessary to take, and they head out.

-

Back in his own universe, Heaven’s lights no longer flickering, Castiel watches as the angels he knows become frightened of the new arrivals.

While they are dressed in simple, light clothing options, these new angels are full-blown soldiers, and they sneer and use their grace freely.

Michael had ordered Castiel to tie up the angels days ago, but now they are sitting at the long white table, looking scared, avoiding the soldier angels’ taunts. He has no idea where Naomi is.

Michael stands at the head of the table, peering at all of them. “You have two choices, brothers and sisters. You either follow me or you get locked up for the rest of eternity. Choose wisely.”

Slowly, angels start to rise, coming to join them all. The soldiers stop taunting the one’s who join, rather beginning to question them about the Earth below in this universe. Only two are left at the table by the end, although there weren’t many to begin with.

“Well?” Michael is imposing as he crosses his arms and looks at them.

One angel, an average looking male, stands slowly. “Maybe if you explained what we would be doing, I might be able to understand why we should join you.”

Michael huffs out a chuckle, walking over to the angel. “Well, aren’t you brave.”

But as he moves, Castiel is aware of how angry the angel looks. One hand is clenched and the other…

“NO!”

Castiel leaps towards the angel who has raised his own blade towards _Dean’s_ chest, and he knocks him to the ground.

Once Castiel has him pinned with his arm, the angel freezes, staring. “Castiel?” the angel asks.

Castiel only thinks of Dean.

He tears into him with his human knife, just sending blood everywhere, opening up wounds that are able to heal, and when the angel starts to move, yelling at him, he grabs the angel blade from Michael’s waiting hand and plunges it into the angel’s chest.

He screams, and his grace explodes, and then Castiel is sitting on a dead corpse, covered in blood.

Everyone is silent, including Michael.

He can’t look at him, or anyone, and his mind is murky, but he knows what he did and he knows why he did it.

When Michael touches his shoulder, Castiel pushes him away.

“It was for Dean,” he spits out angrily, throwing the blade so hard it sticks to the opposite wall like a dart, having just missed another angel’s face.

Michael stares at him, a mix of surprise and something else, he can’t quite tell.

“How far you’ve fallen, Castiel.”

He looks over at Naomi who is standing in the doorway, trapped between two of Michael’s angels. She has a long cut across her cheek, and her clothes are ripped and dirty. But she looks at him with that same disappointment she did all those years ago before messing with his mind.

Castiel walks soundly out of the room, full of rage, passing Naomi without a glance, and heads off down the everlasting white hallway.

-

He had been walking for a very long while before sitting up against the wall and trying to breathe again as the adrenaline leaks away.

Eventually, Michael appears, and they look at each other for a moment before he takes them back to the forest.

Castiel goes to the bed without prompt, anxiety sparking at his fingertips as he sits.

“Do you know why I chose this location, Castiel?” Michael asks, sounding just like Dean. Perhaps on purpose.

He shakes his head, watching as Michael takes off his overcoat, setting his hat on top of it. The sun is drifting in through the windows, lighting up the half of his face that Castiel can see. Michael gazes at the forest and for the first time, Castiel sees him smile.

“Because it is truly the part of creation that hasn’t changed from the way our Father intended it. Although humans have cut a vast majority of it down in order to build and create for themselves, there is still so much of it left.”

Castiel is confused by Michael’s sentiment, unable to answer.

“Do you like it too?” Michael asks.

“Yes, I do,” Castiel says. “That’s why I don’t want you to destroy it.”

He expects a lecture, but Michael just frowns. Then, he’s pulling his blade out and walking towards Castiel, the bed dipping as he sets his knee upon it. _Dean’s knee, Dean’s hand tilting Castiel’s jaw up, Dean’s lips trailing down the side of his face._

Michael shifts them till Castiel is on his back and half his body is on top of him, sliding his blade over Castiel’s neck. It takes too much control to not moan when he bends and starts to suck Castiel’s grace from him.

_Dean, Dean, Dean_

Castiel makes the mistake then, of saying it aloud.

“Dean.”

Michael freezes, lifting his head, but he doesn’t look angry. Just surprised. Then he’s shuddering, twitching again, and Castiel watches, tense, pulling away until his back hits the headboard.

Michael grits his teeth again and then opens his eyes with a gasp and Castiel just knows—

“D-Dean?”

“Fuck, fuck, Cas,” Deans says, hands spreading as he stares at them before noticing their position, and Castiel waits for him to jump away, to say, _what the fuck, Cas_.

But Dean doesn’t do that.

Instead their gazes meet and he moves forward and presses their lips together.

Never has he been so surprised, and as the fresh humanity wavers over him, everything feels sensitive and he moans deeply, cupping Dean’s head, kissing him lovingly.

It’s wet and messy, mouths falling open, and they’re both making insurmountable sounds that carry throughout the room.

Castiel’s legs spread wider and Dean presses himself down, and they’re both hard.

His head is so clear, free of Michael’s grace, and he holds onto Dean so tight, so he’ll never have to let him go.

“Cas, I’m so sorry,” Dean finally says, breathing harshly, lips still dragging over Castiel’s. “Fuck, I’m a damn idiot, Cas, of fucking _course_ he would break our deal. I’m an idiot.”

“No, no, Dean, you’re not an idiot.” Castiel hands are shaking as he plows his fingers through Dean’s hair. He pulls him in again, kissing him thoroughly, before backing away again. “You had to save Sam. You had to.”

“I—yeah, yeah, I know.” Dean sighs, catching his breath. “Fuck, Cas, I’ve been kind of out of it this whole time, but…”

Castiel feels frozen, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“No, don’t be.” Dean cradles his face, pressing light kisses to his lips, over and over and over. “I know why, Cas. I know. I’ve always known. I lo—I love you.”

Castiel sobs into Dean’s mouth. “I love you too.”

“I can’t hold on for much longer,” Dean says, nose scrunching up, and that’s when Castiel remembers Michael. “I- I’m going to try and come back. He’ll push me away for a while, but I’m fucking coming back to you okay? We’re going to figure this out, okay?”

Castiel nods, keeps nodding, kissing him, until Dean starts to tense up, groaning, and Castiel says, “Please come back,” before sliding out from under him, grabbing his blade, and running to the bathroom.

-

Michael doesn’t say anything while Castiel hides in the bathroom, blade held up between his legs, even though he knows he won’t use it.

He doesn’t appear in front of him, doesn’t ask him to come out, doesn’t even try to jiggle the handle.

Castiel is aware of the blood that’s still on him though, so he takes a long, hot shower, washing the angel’s blood from his skin. Along with it is Dean, but Castiel still feels the phantom press of his lips, his hands, his cock, hard for him through layers of clothes, and _Dean loves him too_.

He ends up sitting in the shower for so long the water runs cold and his hands are so wrinkled they hurt. The cut on his neck is only bleeding blood now, his grace seeping back into his body.

Castiel towels himself dry and when he walks out, he’s relieved to find an empty bedroom.

As he pulls on fresh clothes, he wonders what Michael is thinking. His whole plan has been compromised. Will he try to kill Castiel? Dean, even?

Castiel’s heart pounds and he ends up just lying on the bed, waiting for his return.

He falls asleep thinking of kissing Dean, of having him back.

The nightmares fall short that night.

-

In the morning, Castiel wakes to Michael sitting in a chair in the corner of the room.

Immediately, he feels scared, anxious.

Michael is going to kill him.

The Archangel watches, head tilted, until Castiel turns his head away, closing his eyes. “Please do it quickly.”

He hears Michael stand and move towards him. “Do what Castiel?”

“Kill me.”

Michael grips his chin and makes Castiel look at him. His face is impassive; Dean is nowhere in sight. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“Why?”

“You’re more valuable than I thought, Castiel.”

Castiel swallows. “What do you mean?”

“Dean was able to overcome me because of _you_.”

“Wouldn’t that be a strong reason to kill me?”

Michael’s smirk is light. “Yes. But it also makes you a stronger ally. As long as Dean is here, you won’t do anything to hurt me, because in doing so, you hurt him.”

Castiel turns away again, pushing himself into a sitting position. “I thought we established that.”

“You killed one of your own for me, Castiel.”

“I told you it was for _him_ , not you,” Castiel says roughly, pressing further back, away from lips he had kissed last night, lips he longs to ravish again. _This isn’t Dean, though._

“Exactly. You’ll do anything for him. In doing so, you protect _me_.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything, hating the power Michael has over him.

“Perhaps we can set up a trade.” Michael noses at Castiel’s ear. _He’s not Dean._

“What exactly do you have in mind?”

“You seem to enjoy this,” Michael says. He grips his wrist. “Do you want sex, Castiel?”

Castiel’s skin heats up, humanity betraying him, thinking of Dean being with him.

Michael chuckles. “I see.”

“No. I don’t want that.”

“Your body says differently, Castiel.”

Castiel moves off the bed, putting his back towards him. “Not with _you_ , Michael.”

Michael goes silent for a moment. “Oh. _Oh_.

Castiel’s face is burning, and he prays with everything inside of him that Dean can’t hear this.

“You… you really love this man, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Castiel breathes.

It’s silent again as Michael’s thinks. Castiel can practically hear his brain whirring.

“Just forget about it, please, Michael,” Castiel says, suddenly despising this conversation. “Just- just take my grace.” He lies flat on the bed again, closing his eyes, tilting his chin up. “Please.”

Michael says nothing as he grabs his blade and wisps it across Castiel’s neck again. This time, Michael pushes his grace into Castiel as he takes Castiel’s own, so he’s murky and confused as Michael sucks from the cut. He wants to call out Dean’s name, but Michael is keeping him from doing so.

Castiel grips the covers.

-

For the past week, Michael’s grace has been a lot heavier inside of him.

Instead of being slightly off, Castiel stumbles, forgetting things, hanging onto Michael, sometimes believing he is Dean and that he will bring comfort. There have been a few moments where he has simply collapsed to the floor, Michael having to force him up and into a chair.

Michael hasn’t required anything of him, hasn’t made him kill or steal, rather keeping Castiel close, feeding off his grace in littler doses. Every time he latches onto Castiel’s neck, it’s as if Castiel can’t speak. Michael doesn’t want Dean taking control.

There are too many moments where Castiel sits admiring Michael, seeing only Dean, touching his arm and gripping his suspenders. Michael lets him.

All of the angels have been given orders. The timid ones have been fit into appropriate attire, and Castiel can’t differentiate the Apocalypse angels from the ones he knows.

Naomi is gone again, but Castiel thinks that this time it’s permanent.

The only angel who didn’t join was Duma, who stares at Castiel as if he is crazy.

He probably is.

She sits in her cell primly staring at nothing.

“Why, Castiel?” She asked after Michael told him to make sure she made her final decision.

“You know why,” he answered as she locked her cell door.

Now, Michael has sent a few angels to scope out the earth, others to review that all the souls are in order, and the rest to guarding Heaven. He and Castiel are alone in the throne room, and Castiel is trying to focus on one object at a time, failing miserably.

He can only focus on Dean, who is examining his phone.

Wait.

Michael. _Michael_ is staring at Dean’s phone. Today he is in the t-shirt that Castiel was wearing when Michael first came to retrieve him. It looks so good on him. He wonders why Michael changes his clothes. There’s no reason, and yet Michael switches between outfits.

“Come here, Castiel,” Michael says, voice loud in the quiet.

Castiel complies, staggering to the throne.

Michael shuts off Dean’s phone and slides it into his pocket. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

Michael grips Castiel’s hand and the murky waters clear up almost completely. “Say his name.”

Castiel’s eyebrows come together in confusion. “Why?”

Michael’s fingers tighten substantially on his wrist, and Castiel cries out in pain. “Say it.”

“D-Dean,” he says, gripping the throne to keep himself upright. “Dean?”

Instantaneously, Michael starts to shudder, and suddenly, it’s Dean again, looking surprised.

“Cas?”

Castiel doesn’t waste time, throwing himself at Dean and embracing him tightly. “Dean.”

“Whoa. I feel weird.” He holds onto Castiel’s hip, blinking rapidly. “That happened super fast.”

“What?”

“I-I think Michael woke me up a few minutes ago. I watched him call you over and he made you… say my name?”

“Yes.” Castiel leans back, confused. “I don’t know why he would do that.”

Dean tries to clear his head by rubbing his forehead. “I think he’s experimenting, Cas. I think he’s super weirded out that I was able to get back control when you called for me.”

“I am surprised myself.” Castiel smooths his hand over Dean’s cheek, cupping his jaw. “I don’t want you to leave again.”

“Wish you could be there with me,” Dean confesses. “Shit, that sound so bad, but I’m fucking lonely when I’m awake. I hate watching him control me. And you.”

Castiel dips his head, guilt flooding him. “I just—I can’t let you--”

Dean smiles sadly. “Now you know how it feels.”

Remembering Lucifer inside of him makes Castiel shudder. “I suppose you do too.”

Dean is then pulling Castiel in, kissing him heavily. This time, their kisses are less frantic, slower, making Castiel’s heart pound. He straddles Dean’s lap on the throne, knees digging into the corners of the seat, and doesn’t let go of Dean’s face, letting his lips become chapped, kiss-bitten, wet. “Shit, I think he’s coming back,” Dean finally says. “We should have been figuring out a plan.”

“I think I like this a lot better than strategizing,” Castiel admits, sucking on Dean’s neck.

Chuckling, the way only Dean could, he says, “Me too.”

Castiel kisses him one last time. “We will figure it out.”

“I know—” Dean flinches and then Michael is back, staring at Castiel.

Scrambling off his lap, Castiel moves away quickly, scared again. “Why did you do that?” He asks, back hitting the wall.

“You like it,” Michael says in simple explanation.

Castiel turns away. “Why can’t you just leave him?”

“He’s my perfect vessel. You know that.” Michael flutters right next to him, gripping Castiel’s arms to force him to face him. “You need to realize Castiel that in allowing Dean to come to the surface, I am asking for your obedience in return.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“I will let you and Dean… _rendezvous_ , or whatever it is you would like to do, as long as you obey my every command.”

“As in… no more grace?”

“I will still need yours, but yes, no more of mine. I need you alert.”

Castiel has never been so tempted in his life.

“And in all of this, Dean will be kept safe?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Yes. Dean will be perfectly fine. As long as you do everything I say.”

Castiel thinks of Sam. He would be angry at him for making this decision. But what would Dean think?

“I want to talk to Dean about it.”

Michael nods.

“Alone.”

Michael freezes. “I don’t know if I am able to trust you to that extent Castiel.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Neither of us would be comfortable if you were present during our… time.”

It’s suddenly a very uncomfortable talk they are having, and Michael folds his hands behind his back. “Fine. There will be no discussion about anything to do with expulsion, do you understand me? I will keep some of my grace present to keep that from happening, but I will not be there consciously.”

Castiel hates this.

He hates that this is what is has come to.

Knowing that his love is returned should be the best thing to have ever happened. And although it is in many ways, only being with Dean in this type of situation is harrowing. Dean hates being locked up. His entire persona screams freedom and free will, defying any sort of fate.

“Okay.”

Michael nods. “Say his name.”

Castiel swallows. “Dean?”

Dean is back very suddenly, going a bit limp, and Castiel pulls him in. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“For what?” Dean looks around, disoriented, before focusing on Castiel. “Where are we?”

“It doesn’t matter. Dean, you need to expel Michael. Right now.”

“What?”

Castiel grips Dean’s face. “I’m begging you. Michael is going to take over the world. He is going to kill everyone. I- I can’t do it by his side, knowing you’re trapped. You have to say no.”

Dean stares. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can, Dean.” Castiel kisses him roughly. “Please, please, Dean, Sam needs you, your mother and Jack. _I_ need you.”

“I’m not strong enough.” Dean starts to shake, bending, gripping his own body. “Cas, I can’t do it.”

“Dean--”

Dean falls to the ground, twisting in pain. He lets out a scream, and Castiel can only watch.

Michael had been listening.

“Fuck, Dean,” Castiel says, unable to help. “I’m so fucking sorry. I love you, I’m sorry.” He grabs a blade, not knowing if it’s his or Michael’s, and runs as fast as he can.

The hallways stretches for so long, so very long, and Castiel is running for his life, trying to remember where the exit is.

Castiel isn’t surprised when he goes flying sideways into the wall.

The force is inhumane, and Castiel’s arm breaks. It hurts so bad, and Castiel is gasping in pain, staring up at white. His vision is clouded then with Dean’s face. But it’s not Dean, it’s Michael, so unbelievably furious that Castiel is afraid.

“Looks like I’ve let out a little too much slack, huh Castiel? I’ve been a little too soft. I must say though, you were so _very_ convincing.”

Michael grips him by the front of his shirt and throws him further down the hallway. Castiel goes rolling, hip bruising, arm blooming with a humongous pain. His arm is practically splinters inside of his skin, now, and Castiel can’t even scream. With that haunting sound of feathers, Michael is above him again, straddling him, and lifting him up only to slam his head back onto the ground.

A sickening pain spreads through his entire body, blood bubbling from his mouth, and Michael must have broken his skull, or just simply his mind.

“You think you can defy me and fucking get away with it?” Michael spits into his ear.

Castiel hates that it’s Dean’s voice, his hands. He can’t answer, as everything goes cloudy. A concussion is probably blooming inside of him, and consciousness will soon be lost.

“He’s screaming in here,” Michael whispers fiercely.

“No,” Castiel says, blood pouring from his mouth.

“You did this to him. You hurt him. Now he has to pay the price for your stupid _fucking_ actions.”

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” Castiel says through bloody teeth.

Michael twitches, but it’s not enough. “Say his name one more goddamn time, Castiel, I dare you.”

He screams when Michael takes ahold of his ankle and breaks it with one jerk. Everything is on fire, his blood racing, and Michael lets him feel the pain. “Are you done, angel?”

Castiel nods.

Michael looks impassive again, merely fierce in his eyes, as he grips Castiel by his good ankle and drags him back towards the throne room.

It makes no sense, as Castiel sobs, holding his arm, but he begins to pray to Dean.

_I love you. I’m so sorry. I love you._

Michael throws him again, and Castiel rolls until his back hits the base of the throne. He groans, curling into himself, blood pooling onto the floor. Castiel is seeing spots, and he begs for it all to go black.

The soft fall of footsteps on the floor stops at his head. Michael lowers himself to the ground, gripping Castiel by his hair. “If you ever try to contact him again, you will regret it.”

When he lets Castiel go, finally, he’s swept away in a lurching boat across a ragged river, leaving in pain.

-

Castiel wakes up in the bed, hands and feet bound.

His injuries have been healed, but he still feels pain.

_Dean_

Castiel begins to weep, despising his brother, hating himself.

He always ends up hurting Dean, no matter what he does.

To make matters worse, Michael doesn’t come back for three days.

Castiel has just enough grace to take care of himself, but he’s never been so alone.

At one point during the second day he begins screaming, begging Michael to come back, until he collapses, shaking.

He has flashbacks at night of Dean writhing in pain, of his face above Castiel as his bones are broken, as blood smears across a shining white backdrop.

Eventually he stills like marble, closing his eyes.

It lasts for almost twenty-four hours.

Then Castiel hears wings and he looks up into Dean’s face. Michael doesn’t say anything just simply climbs atop of him and slashes his neck and as he sucks almost all of the grace from Castiel’s body, he sends the murky waves back into Castiel’s head and he moans deeply, so glad to be rid of his own thoughts.

He tightens his legs around Michael-- _Dean’s hips_ \-- and lets himself move against the body above him.

“Fuck.” Michael drops his head, shaking.

Castiel doesn’t dare call out Dean’s name, but he needs touch as his grace is drained and he says, “Please,” and Michael is muttering, “No, no.”

Castiel is limited by the ropes, but he rolls his hips, gasping.

That’s when Michael finally splays his hand over Castiel’s forehead and so much of Michael’s grace is pushed into him that he’s loopy and can’t control himself, twitching for no reason. He even lets out a laugh or two as Michael continues taking his grace.

Castiel finds that he would rather be in this cloud than stuck with himself.

-

Michael doesn’t let him leave this room.

Being human requires the fundamental needs, but other than that, he is condemned to the bed.

Michael only comes back when he needs more, tying Castiel to the bed, sending him into a paralyzing dream, stuck in reality while he takes and takes.

Castiel isn’t even sure his grace can replenish that quickly, sure that Michael will soon go much too far.

Dean is nowhere in sight. Not even when Castiel rolls up into his body before Michael muddles his brain.

After a week and a half of coming and going, Michael suddenly stops.

The food left for him goes unneeded as Castiel’s grace builds up again, and he is getting bored of the basic cable programs on the television. The only amusement comes from soaps and Jeopardy.

Eventually, when another week goes by, Castiel gives up doing what he is told, and opens a window.

He climbs up to the roof easily, and when he gazes up, billions of blinking stars meet him.

It’s the most freedom he’s experienced in a long time.

The forest around the house stretches for miles, far beneath the hill in which the house resides. Castiel can’t see an ending point.

He sits up on the roof all night, wondering where his Father is.

How could he let this happen?

When dawn begins to settle over the horizon, Castiel’s eyes flash. His grace is flaring inside of him, blinking, as if it’s a voicemail box full of messages.

_“Castiel? Please tell us where you are. Sam has a plan. We think it could work.”_

That’s Jack praying to him. Is it a live prayer, or a recording? Castiel almost laughs at his technological thoughts.

_Dean would be proud._

Another prayer comes from Sam, asking where he is. Telling him they have a plan. Saying Michael won’t win and that they will beat him.

But will they?

Castiel slides back into the room at dawn.

He jumps back at the sight of Michael sitting on the bed.

“I thought I told you to stay in this room.”

Castiel trembles. Michael is covered in blood, and it’s almost like a mask on his face. He looks tired.

“I was just admiring the stars.”

Michael just stares at him.

Castiel says, “Where have you been?”

Michael rises. “I am going to recharge and then we are leaving.”

“O-okay. Can I just--”

Suddenly Michael is right there, throwing him to the floor, and Castiel can only watch helplessly as his throat is cut once again, and lips press over the wound, and his grace is pulled from him, slowly, and his eyes brighten. Michael shudders. _Dean touching him, his lips, his legs, tongue…_

Castiel needs the touch, and suddenly he’s gripping _Dean’s_ hair and pulling him up, kissing him. It’s Dean above him, blood smearing from his skin to Castiel’s, _fuck_ that’s arousing, and Castiel is pushing Dean back, moving on top of him.

_Is it Dean? Is it really?_

Castiel throws himself back as quickly as he started, breathing heavily, feeling the sticky blood on his lips, his neck.

He stares, ashamed, at wide green eyes.

“Cas, it’s me,” Dean pleads, moving towards him.

Castiel flinches as he gets closer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t know that.”

“Has he pretended to be me before?”

_Has he?_ “No, I-I don’t think so.”

Dean pulls him close. “I love you.”

“You have to go. Before he hurts you.”

Dean nods. “He- he hurt you real bad last time, Cas.”

Nodding, Castiel lies back down. “Just go okay, okay? Maybe he won’t know.”

He looks skeptical, but Dean does as he’s told, and then Michael is back. “What just happened?” He grouts out.

“You-you were twitching. I thought you were… I became afraid.”

Michael looks at him for a moment.

“You know the consequences of lying to me again, right Castiel?”

He nods, swallowing.

“Good boy,” Michael says lowly, before seemingly deciding it isn’t important and going back to Castiel’s neck.

He sighs at the plume of grace that rushes through him, and he swims in it.

It feels like a very long time until Michael finishes, pulling him up. Castiel sways against him, breathing in a scent that isn’t Dean. “Where are we going?”

“We are going to go punish Charlie Bradbury and wipe her from existence, once and for all,” Michael says.

Castiel is about to lock up and beg, but Michael knows him too well by now, and more grace is pushed inside his head.

He doesn’t have a care in the world as they flutter away.

-

One of the people from the other universe is already dead when they arrive at the scene.

They’re in a seedy motel room, and Charlie is bound to a chair for what feels like the hundredth time since Castiel found out she exists. Her eyes widen at Castiel, and then at Dean. She’s gagged, yelling behind the cloth, and Castiel suddenly becomes anxious, almost embarrassed, because here he is at _Michael’s_ side, clinging to him like a child.

“And once more, once more, we meet again,” Michael croons, twirling the blade between his fingers. He unwraps his arm from around Castiel and says, “Take the gag from her mouth.”

Mind dredging, Castiel makes his way to her, gently sliding the cloth down and around her neck. “Cas? Whatcha’ doin, man?” She looks confused, and she’s so much like the Charlie he once knew and loved, yet different.

To her, he must be terrifying. The alternate version of himself was atrocious.

“Dean,” is all he says, backing away.

Charlie shakes her head. “Castiel, that _isn’t_ Dean. Yeah, this piece of shit has him locked away somewhere inside, but that right there isn’t Dean.”

“You’re wrong,” Castiel ends up saying.

The motel door opens and one of the other angels steps into the room. “Sir, we have a problem.”

Castiel despises the sneer upon Michael’s face, because it’s so unlike Dean, _not him_. But then there’s that waterfall of green and he falls short and simply tilts his head in question.

“Stay here and guard her, Castiel,” Michael orders, tapping Castiel’s forehead and pushing more grace into him.

He sways, hanging onto Michael’s sleeve. “Okay.”

The angel and Michael disappear together, and Castiel goes to sit on the bed.

“You’re skinnier than the last time I saw you,” Charlie says, slumping in her chair.

Castiel peers down, picking at his t-shirt. He never really thought about it but going back and forth between almost completely human and full of grace has made his vessel confused. He’s a bit slimmer than normal, and Castiel hopes he doesn’t appear sickly.

“What the hell happened to you?” Charlie asks.

“I have to protect Dean.”

Charlie’s eyes are sympathetic, but she’s so confused. “From what? It sucks Michael is in charge, but Dean’s safe with him. What you need to focus on is getting him back.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

Castiel ignores her finally, letting Michael’s grace wash through him and he slumps to the floor, putting his head back against the mattress.

Charlie continues talking, but Castiel can’t hear her anymore.

_Dean, Dean, Dean_

-

When Michael reappears, Castiel almost smiles, because that’s Dean holding an angel blade, dragging an unconscious Arthur Ketch into the room, isn’t it?

He stands, watching as the soldier angel pulls up another chair from the kitchenette and ties Arthur up, cinching the ropes tight.

“This one was lurking around the back with a damn angel explosive,” Michael says, way too nonchalantly as he walks up to Charlie. “Wanna explain?”

“We were going to blow your ass out of here,” is all she offers, and rage suddenly races through him.

“You were going to hurt Dean?” He says, moving up next to Michael.

Charlie goes from looking at Michael viciously to at Castiel with sympathy again. “Castiel, Dean wouldn’t want him fucking up this world. We certainly don’t. It wouldn’t have even done much to an Archangel--”

“ _Stop talking_.” Castiel closes his eyes, mind sluggish from grace, but seeping in is betrayal. “You were going to hurt him.”

Charlie looks afraid now, as Castiel seethes. He loves Charlie, doesn’t he? He cares for her deeply, right?

Michael watches their exchange, hands clasped as usual. He’s moved Dean’s face into a sternness that only lies with an angel of his magnitude, almost as if he has no emotion at all, eyes watching him. Castiel turns away from Charlie, staring at Ketch who is still unconscious.

“They were going to hurt Dean,” Michael says softly. “They don’t care about him, do they?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“You know the truth.” Michael doesn’t push the matter any further, surprisingly. He never does what Castiel expects. “Dispose them somewhere where no one will find them,” he tells the other angel. “I’m done chasing them.”

Castiel’s last look of Charlie is the angel gripping her hair, along with Ketch’s, and her pleading him.

But when Michaels sidles up to him and Castiel looks up, he knows that he’s more lost than he’s ever been.

-

Castiel’s living in a fog.

He’s a robot, too similar to his time before Dean, to Naomi’s mind control.

But _Dean_ is here.

The blade always pierces the same exact spot, and a drop of blood always comes along before the grace. Castiel is reading a book he found in the nightstand drawer when _Dean_ comes along, almost smiling as he cuts at the spot and takes everything inside of him.

The book falls open onto _Dean’s_ back as he groans, waiting for the wash of grace, and Castiel dreams of it, letting is cascade over all the thoughts he doesn’t want in his head.

He rubs _Dean’s_ head afterwards, carding his fingers through his hair. He’s grown it out a bit, and it’s silky.

Castiel’s happy.

He’s so happy.

_Dean, Dean, Dean_

-

Castiel is walking alongside the pier, looking for him.

He’s usually here.

Waiting, with two fishing poles and that bright smile.

He always pats the spot next to them and they never talk, just simply cast their lines far out into the glittering lake, gold smudging the edges of everything.

But today, he isn’t here.

Today, Sam Winchester is standing beneath a tree, staring at him.

“Where’s Dean?” Castiel asks. “I have to look for him.”

He’s aware of Sam’s voice, calling out to him, but all he can think is _Dean, Dean, Dean_.

His knees hit the edge of the pier, and he gazes into the water.

It’s so murky.

“Dean?” He whispers.

Suddenly he’s being wrenched into the water, not even able to slip out a scream as he’s submerged.

Castiel’s human, gasping for air, and something has his foot and he’s going to die.

But as he’s about to go still and let go, something grabs his hand and he’s swimming to the surface.

He flops onto the grassy shore, breathing harshly, soaked. Next to him is Sam, whose hair is a flopping mess over his forehead. Castiel reaches over and helps him smooth it out.

“Thanks,” Sam says, sending him that smile he seems to always reserve for when Castiel is being silly.

“No, thank you for saving me.” Castiel rolls onto his back and stares at the sky. “Why are you here, Sam? Did you come to fish?”

Sam shakes his head. “Cas… it’s me. I’m real. I used dream root to reach you.”

Castiel sits up, frowning. “No. Not possible.”

“You’re human, right?”

“I-I…”

“Charlie told us Michael’s been draining you of your grace.”

Castiel is supposed to be safe here. He’s supposed to be free from reality.

“No, no,” Castiel says, burying his head between his knees. “This isn’t real.”

Gripping his shoulders, Sam shakes him. “Dammit Cas ! It is real! It’s me! How would I know that Charlie was kidnapped, along with Ketch, and that Michael was there with you?”

“Charlie is dead. Arthur is dead.”

“They escaped, Cas. Bobby rescued them.”

“It can’t be. They tried to hurt Dean. They can’t be alive.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, they didn’t. They were trying to get rid of the other angels, and then you both showed up. They didn’t know Michael would come. They didn’t know he would bring you.”

“Michael… he said they don’t care about Dean.” Castiel feels the ounce of betrayal inside of him start to grow again, and he pulls himself up from the grassy bank.

Sam follows, looking horribly sad. “He’s lying to you, Cas. He’s using your feelings against you.”

Swallowing, Cas trying to adjust Michael’s grace inside of him, trying to make it take him away, but it’s clearing away and it’s terrifying him.

“Dean’s in there, Castiel, but he doesn’t want this for you,” Sam continues. “He loves you.”

Castiel shivers. The fluffy white clouds above them are rolling away, replaced by a storm. Lightning cracks, and there’s a large roar in the distance. “I can’t let him go.”

“Then we have to figure out how to shove Michael into the rift and save Dean,” Sam says, hand resting on Castiel’s shoulder.

“O-okay.”

“I’ll come back. Hopefully your old hairbrush has enough to work with. We all made a plan. Mom, Jack, Charlie… Even Ketch wants you both back, safe and sound.”

“Will you all come?”

“Yeah.” Sam smiles. “We’re going to figure this out.”

“Okay.” Castiel’s grips his elbows. “I don’t know how much use I will be, though, Sam…”

“You’re the most important part of the plan.” Sam pulls him in and Castiel is surprised by how easily his breath rushes out and he has missed such a meaningful touch. One of friendship and support.

“I miss you, Sam. I miss you all.”

“We miss you guys too. Fuck, Cas, he’s such an idiot…”

Castiel laughs, and when Sam joins in, it’s contagious, and it brings tears to his eyes. The sky clears up again, and the sun shines through, although a few drops of rain hit the top of his head.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?’

“Michael’s hold on me… I don’t know why I’m so weak.”

“Because you know what love is. Michael has never felt love in any way, shape, or form. He’s using it against you. He’s using Dean against you, Cas.”

It pierces his heart. It hurts, more than a shattered arm, a cracked ankle and skull.

“The bad guys will always use love against us,” Sam whispers. “But it doesn’t make us weak. It just makes us a little more vulnerable.”

Cas stares over at the lake.

When he looks back, Sam is gone.

-

When Castiel wakes up, he remembers.

Until Michael is baring down on him, dragging his grace out slowly, and forces his bran back into a fuzz.

He’s flown back up to Heaven, where Michael informs the angels of a plan Castiel doesn’t understand.

Something about the White House.

It’s to be executed sometime next week.

It will be the change of everything.

Castiel just sits at the base of the throne, picking at the faintest remnants of blood left, and Michael sweeps his fingers across the back of his neck every so often, pushing more and more grace into him.

He’s left uncompliant, lolling his head against _Dean’s_ knee, dragging his fingers over the top of his fancy shoes.

Castiel’s losing himself, he can tell.

He can only think, _Dean, Dean, Dean_ and how he must protect him, and the only way to do that is to listen to Michael, because he knows everything, he knows what to do.

_This isn’t Dean,_ someone is saying in the back of his head.

But Castiel doesn’t believe them.

-

Tonight, after Michael brings them home, Castiel is confused when Michael ties him down completely.

“What is going on?” Castiel asks, eyes blinking up slowly to Michael who is shrugging off his coat and rolling up his sleeves.

“You will see.”

He watches the television, not quite understanding what the program is about.

Michael flutters in and out of the room, returning with different objects. He is focused on a bowl set atop the windowsill, and as he adds things to it, it begins to light up.

Castiel feels the tiniest amount of anxiety swirl inside of him, but he’s too tired to think about it.

“What are you doing?” He finally asks, intrigued.

Michael sighs, turning towards Castiel with a look that actually mirrors Dean’s face when he’s annoyed with him. “I’m creating a special… binding link. Can’t have anyone expelling me, now can we?” He smirks and turns away.

_Fuck._

Castiel’s brain starts to spin its gears, but the murky hold of Michael’s grace stops them from turning at full speed.

It’s infuriating, because Castiel knows this will ruin everything.

It takes every ounce of energy inside of him work at the rope around his left hand. Perhaps Michael has gotten used to Castiel’s compliance, because they fall apart easily, and as he works on the second, Michael drops an ingredient in the bowl that lights up the entire room.

The TV flickers, and a lightbulb fizzes out, and Castiel realizes this is no ordinary spell, no simple brand onto Dean’s forearm.

He’s heard of binding links attached to one’s soul, but this seems… wrong.

So utterly wrong.

_You’re not going to fucking touch his soul, Michael_

Castiel rips away the ropes around his ankles and without thinking of the consequences, only thinking, _Dean_ , he throws himself at Michael.

The Archangel is thoroughly bewildered as he hits the wall before sliding to the floor, and Castiel takes the opportunity to swipe the bowl aside, the ingredients pouring out and soaking into the carpet. He reaches for the angel blade that had fallen from Michael’s hand, and in seeing the beginning of a complicated symbol on his arm, he pushes the blade through it.

Michael yells, throwing his head back, and Castiel is stunned because he just stabbed _Dean_.

_Is Dean in pain? Did I hurt him? Did I ultimately kill him._

Castiel sits back, letting go of the hilt. 

He watches as Michael curses, taking the handle of the blade and wrenching it out of his arm. It zooms from his hand and strikes the window.

Castiel flinches as it shatters, shards of glass cutting the side of his face.

Terror strikes up his spine, though, when Michael glares at him.

“I won’t let you hurt, Dean,” Castiel says.

No, there is no surprise when Castiel flies into the wall opposite Michael, sliding to the floor. He decides to take it, as Michael flies over to him and grips him by the neck, lifting him higher and higher.

His hands go to Michael’s, trying to pry his fingers apart to let oxygen in, but Michael shakes his head with a smirk. “You deserve to be punished, Castiel.”

In the true fashion of Dean Winchester, Castiel states, “Bite me.”

Michael walks over to the window, squeezing Castiel’s throat and just as black spots begin to dart across his vision, Michael pulls him close, lips at Castiel’s ear. “Do that again, and you won’t be so lucky next time.”

Then he pushes Castiel out of the window.

-

He falls and falls, because the house is on a hill, and Castiel doesn’t let himself scream.

When he hits the ground, Castiel’s body breaks.

He stares at the sky, and it’s full of those twinkling stars. It’s just like the lullaby so many children seem to learn at a very young age.

Trees also loom over his head, dark and dangerous, and all Castiel can do is look.

-

It doesn’t stop there, because Michael is still angry.

“You cost me another week’s worth of trips to find the ingredients for that spell, Castiel. Do you realize how little time is left? How important the following week is? It will change everything.”

Castiel’s mouth is covered with a leather gag, but he can’t help screaming as Michael splits his cheek open with a very human knife.

This time the bonds around his wrists and ankles are double knotted, digging into his skin.

There’s no sight of Dean in those green eyes.

They’re almost black, like a demon.

“If you want Dean to stay safe, you have to do everything I fucking tell you. How hard is that to understand?”

Michael trails the knife down the length of his throat, and blood pours down the sides, leaving Castiel sobbing. He’s almost precise as he tears Castiel’s human skin apart. He’ll repair it again just as Castiel has run out of blood to give, but he doesn’t know how long this cycle will continue.

Michael cuts through his t-shirt, Dean’s t-shirt, and it makes him cry.

“Pathetic. Sentiment for a material object? _Please_ , Castiel.”

He proceeds to slicing Castiel’s chest, over and over, and when Michael sees Castiel’s tattoo, he tuts. “Weak.”

Michael finishes by plunging the blade into Castiel’s stomach.

-

Castiel is healed and strapped to the bed, angry and hurt.

“Will you be good now, angel?” Michael leans against the dresser, blocking the television, spinning his blade.

Castiel nods.

“Good, because there will be no next time.”

Castiel nods, again, praying for Dean to suddenly appear and hold him close.

But there’s only Michael, crawling on top of him, pushing so much grace into him that Castiel is nauseous, going completely slack, staring at the television while Michael slices his throat.

He watches Jeopardy while Michael takes, answering all of the questions correctly.

-

When Sam comes that night to the pier, he brings along Jack and Mary.

Jack hugs him tight, not letting go for some time, and Castiel is thankful for his embrace.

“I missed you, Castiel.”

Next is Mary, hand rubbing his back like a mother does her son. “You’ve been so brave.”

“No, I haven’t,” Castiel whispers.

“Don’t start with me, Cas,” Sam says, crossing his arms. “We know this is… difficult.”

“Where have you been the past few nights?” Mary asks. “We’ve been trying to reach you, but we couldn’t access your dreams.”

Castiel stares at the grass beneath his feet. “I was being punished.”

“For what?” Sam’s arms fall to his sides.

“I stopped Michael from creating a binding link within Dean’s soul. In return, he threw me out of a window.”

Mary gasps, and Jack looks appalled, along with Sam who crouches, burying his head in his hands. “Fuck, Cas. We-we should have tried harder to find you. Get you the hell away from him.”

“It’s okay, Sam. I have been trying to protect Dean in all of this, even if it doesn’t seem like it. Michael could easily kill Dean without harming himself. I made a deal with him from the beginning, without even realizing. As long as I do what he says and offer him my grace, he will not hurt Dean.”

Mary’s eyes shut in pain. Jack stares at Castiel. “How could Michael be this cruel?”

“He’s from a chaotic universe,” Castiel says. “As Sam has recently explained to me, Michael has never experienced love, not even from our Father. He is cold, and he only desires power.”

“So what exactly is he planning to do here?” Mary asks.

“He wants to rid it of sin,” Sam says, looking at Castiel for confirmation. “He hates humanity as much as Lucifer did.”

“As Dean would say, ‘Daddy issues’,” Castiel says.

That makes everyone smile unexpectedly, and immediately his overpowering guilt is lightened.

These people care for Dean as much as he does.

Ridding Michael from the world and Dean’s body needs to be their number one priority.

“What is the plan you have all devised?” Castiel asks, sitting on the grass. He spreads his fingers through the strands and plucks them from the ground.

The rest follow suit, Jack sitting right next to him, and Castiel feels heavy emotion roll through him.

“I think we have to ask God for help,” Sam says.

Castiel stares at him. “Please tell me this is plan Z.”

“Look, I know it’s crazy, but if we explain the situation to him, about Michael and the other Universe and Heaven--”

“He doesn’t care about any of us, Sam,” Castiel says, anger blooming red underneath his skin at the thought of his absent Father. “Do you know how many times I have prayed over the years? Begged? When you fell into the Pit, when the Leviathan took over my body, when Naomi had me under her control? When Lucifer corrupted your mind, my voice became raw from screaming for help, because seeing both you and your brother in pain was unbearable. When Dean accepted the Mark of Cain, I begged him to take it away. And what did he do? He only came when _he_ was the one being threatened, Sam. And then he left. Again.”

Sam swallows audibly, but he keeps his gaze steady. “You’re right. I swear, it’s our last ditch effort, Cas. And I know—he probably won’t come. In that case, you’re going to have to get to Dean. If we make him strong enough to expel Michael with the help of Ketch’s hyperbolic pulse generator, maybe we can trap him in an empty vessel.”

“What do you need me to do?” Those words make his mind flash to staring up at Dean’s face, answering to Michael, and Castiel shivers.

“Are you okay?” Jack asks, expression one of worry. His shoulders are loose and his eyebrows are raised. So very human seeming.

That’s when Castiel remembers that Jack doesn’t have his powers anymore. “Jack, I am so sorry about your grace.”

“It’s okay.” Jack smiles. “I feel better without it. _I’m_ better as human, I think. Sam and Mary are teaching me how to shoot a gun! He says he’ll let me pick out my own once I’m ready.”

“That’s incredible, Jack,” Castiel praises, and Jack beams.

“Are you sure you’re okay though, Castiel?” Mary asks. “We only have one shot, but we don’t want you to get hurt, or worse. We could try sending someone in to help, or maybe we could—”

“No,” Castiel interrupts, putting his hand up. “I have to do this. Michael trusts me. I’m the only one who can get to him.”

Mary nods.

“The plan is to get Michael to the bunker,” Sam explains, switching into leader mode. “From there we have it figured out.”

“I think I can do that,” Castiel says. “But… what if it goes wrong? I-I can’t let Dean get hurt. I can’t.” Something inside of him aches, and thinking of Dean being in pain brings Michael’s straying grace inside of him, clouding his brain.

“Michael can’t kill Dean without hurting himself,” Sam says. He comes to kneel in front of Castiel. “He’s a liar, Cas. Everytime I mention Dean, you always start worrying about him being in pain, and it’s like you’re out of it. I bet this has something to do with his hold on you.”

“Perhaps.” Castiel presses his palms to his temples, trying to shake himself clear of all the unnecessary anxiety. “But I worry about Dean all the time.”

“Not like this. We do too, especially me, but Cas, you were so worried about Dean that you didn’t even think of freeing Charlie. She said it was like you were drugged.”

“I…” Castiel remembers his own blade flat against the small of his back as he sat on the motel room carpet. He can almost recall Charlie begging him to cut her free, that they will figure out how to get rid of Michael together, but he could only repeat one mantra in his head.

_Dean, Dean, Dean…_

Castiel loves Dean with everything inside of him, but with Michael using it against him, he’s forgetting his own judgement.

“You’re right. He knows I could never kill Dean,” Castiel says softly.

“This is why you have to bring him to us.”

Castiel looks at the people in front of him, his _family_.

It’s not complete without Dean.

“I know what to do.”

-

The matter of acquiring the simplest of ingredients is supposedly the hardest part, but Castiel can only imagine the strain through pulling Dean to the surface with the possibility of death.

It takes another week for Michael to stop restraining Castiel to the bed. He demands that Castiel wash up, even though his grace is almost halfway replenished. When Castiel walks out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, a stack of neatly folded clothes sits in the center of bed.

It’s a pair of expensive jeans and a maroon Henley, the type Dean likes to wear. Maybe Michael did that on purpose. The shoes are tough, but Castiel expects he’ll break them in soon enough. This clothing is comfortable, and he thinks of his discarded overcoat- or _trench coat_ , as everyone seems to think- simply missing the sentimentality of it.

When Michael appears in the early afternoon, he’s dressed in an impeccable suit, and Castiel swallows.

_Beautiful._

“Tomorrow is a big day, Castiel.” Michael smiles, and it hurts.

“Why?” Castiel asks, although he knows.

“You look very handsome.” Michael ignores him, of course, walking towards the window. He had repaired the glass sometime during Castiel’s punishment. Now, he looks out at the forest. “Dean approves.”

“W-what?”

Michael just laughs, and Castiel forces himself to get past Michael’s taunts. “Are we traveling to Heaven beforehand?”

“Yes. Our plan must be executed flawlessly.”

Castiel’s heart pounds. _The plan just might work._

“Are we leaving tonight, then?”

“Yes. After…” Michael tilts his head.

_Fuck._ If Michael gives too much of his grace, Castiel’s head will be too murky to meet Sam.

Castiel walks towards Michael, trying to think of how to best keep his own conscious. Looking into those pretty green eyes, he slides his fingers up to Michael’s arm, pulling the angel blade from his sleeve. Michael watches intently as Castiel cuts his own throat.

“Please?” Castiel tilts up his chin, keeping their eyes locked.

Michael leans in, lips pressing over the cut, tongue catching the drop of blood, and Castiel presses against him. Just as Michael goes to drag his fingers over his forehead, Castiel says, “I want to watch you destroy them.”

Pulling back, Michael squints. “What?”

“I want to see you put humans to justice.” Castiel sighs into Michael’s ear, letting his body go a little limp, as if a lot of Michael’s grace is still in him. “I want to be with you when you do.”

Unbelievably, Michael buys it. He slips an arm around Castiel’s waist, chuckling. “Dean wants this too, you know. He understands how evil humanity has become. We will do this together.”

Castiel wants to cringe, but he smiles instead, and Michael goes back to sucking on his neck, pulling away his grace, but leaving his mind intact.

It only gets harder from here.

-

Every angel is gathered around the white table, appearing stern as they listen to Michael.

He’s riled up, practically yelling, pounding his fists on the table as he talks about purging the sinners, taking over the White House, how it is only the beginning. Castiel stands near the doors, nodding along, but inside his anxiety is taking over.

He’s praying this will work, that Sam will be okay.

Finally, the time comes where Michael is assigning positions to the angels: of whom they are to capture from the American government, those in which to kill, those who deserve more punishment than a quick death. Castiel slips away and runs as fast as his legs will carry him towards the entrance to Heaven.

He steps through, and his new shoes sink into the sandbox.

“Cas! Thank God, we’ve been coming out here for a week now!” Sam hugs him quickly, Jack too, and then there’s a small, flat canister being slapped into his hand.

“If you don’t remember the sigil, I drew it out,” Sam says, slipping a folded up piece of paper alongside the canister, and Castiel sticks the items in his front pocket. “There’s only enough for one go. If you mess up…”

“I know. But if-if Michael finds out, I’m sure he will kill me before coming after you.”

Sam’s eyebrows come together. “Draw a banishing sigil too, just in case. It’ll give you time to run.”

Castiel doubts he could escape Michael through the gigantic forest beyond his room. He doesn’t voice the information, though, and rather says, “Thank you, Sam. If all goes well, I will be arriving with him tonight. Have another suppressing sigil ready. Michael is strong.”

“We can do this, Cas. We’re going to save Dean.”

“Yes. Save Dean.” Castiel stares up at the sky. It’s much too blue for the gloom settling over them.

“Good luck.” Jack squeezes his arm.

They hurry off towards the Impala. The sight of Dean’s treasured possession makes him ache.

Castiel steps back into Heaven and five feet away is Michael, hands deep in his pockets.

“Whatcha’ doin, Cas?”

He sounds just like Dean, just like _Dean_ , who’s trapped inside his own body…

“Forgive me.” Castiel drops to his knees, shaking. “I-I wanted to see the sky. Before…” He trails off.

Michael stares at him. “Come here,” he says, voice steady.

Castiel moves, eyes on the sparkling floor, until he reaches Michael. A hand grips his chin and forces him to look up into green eyes.

“Castiel,” Michael says softly, “I am not destroying the world. There is too much beauty, too much work already put into it. I almost think our Father put more effort into this universe than mine.”

“Oh.” Castiel lets his body relax, even if it’s completely false. “I-I just assumed--”

“You need to trust me, Castiel,” Michael says, letting his lips drag over his cheek. Grace sweeps into him slowly, and Castiel trembles. “That’s why I offer my grace. To help you realize the potential this world holds. That I am not the bad guy.”

_Yes you are. You have never felt love. You’re lying._

The truth is hidden in the back of his mind and Castiel lets Michael turn him around until his back is flush with Michael’s front. Somewhere inside, he’s thankful for putting the canister in his front pocket. Somewhere inside, he panics when Michael pushes them through the portal.

He’s holding his breath, but the playground is empty.

The Impala is gone.

“This will all stay,” Michael proclaims into Castiel’s ear. “We will keep it safe by getting rid of the majority of older, useless humans. Perhaps some of the children can be taught. Unfortunately, others are far too gone in their own ways.”

“Oh.” Castiel’s head falls back onto the shoulder behind him. _Is it Dean? Or Michael?_

His mind is far too prone to the tiniest slip of Michael’s grace now, much too moldable.

If Castiel is going to execute Sam’s plan, he needs to stay out of Michael’s proximity.

“Can we go home?” Castiel asks. “I’m suddenly very tired.”

“I’ll take you. But I have work to do before we travel to Washington.”

“Okay.”

The moment Michael flies off again, Castiel is pulling out the canister, studying Sam’s drawing of the sigil. He twists the cap off and dips his finger into the substance.

Time to begin.

-

Castiel is nervously tapping his fingers on the bedframe when Michael returns.

“Is it time to go?” Castiel says, making his voice thicker than his mind is.

“Not yet. First, I have to finish the spell you messed up.” Michael’s holding the same bowl from last time, setting it on the windowsill again. “This time I’ll make sure you stay put.”

Michael advances, rope appearing between his hands, and Castiel makes his move.

He stands and pushes Michael as hard as he can, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Castiel cuts his hand open with a razor he found in the restroom and just as Michael yells, “CASTIEL!” he slams his hand into the green suppressing sigil.

Michael falls halfway to rising, yelling in anger. He looks to be fighting it off well, but Castiel could sob when he sees his eyes flash and he falls flat to the floor.

Castiel falls next to Dean, holding his face in his hands, his blood smearing the left side of his face. “Dean?”

“C-Cas?” Dean’s eyes flutter open, and he looks confused. “What happened?”

“I made a suppressing sigil,” Castiel says hurriedly. “But Dean, you need to fly us to the bunker.”

“What?” Dean stares up at him, attempting to sit up.

“Sam has a plan. All I need you to do right now is get us to the bunker. Are you able to do that, Dean?”

Dean blinks before saying, “Help me up.”

Cas wants to kiss him, embrace him, confess to him all the things he adores about Dean, but now is not the time.

“Can you do it?”

Dean nods slowly. “Hang on to me.”

Castiel pulls Dean into his arms, and he lets out a wavering breath when Dean wraps around him. Then they’re flying.

-

They fall outside of the bunker, and Dean is shaking.

“Cas—can’t hold on—”

Castiel immediately slings Dean’s arm around his shoulders and begins dragging him to the door. “Just a few more steps, Dean.”

He pounds on the door and hangs onto Dean for dear life. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Dean.”

“He barely t-touched me last time,” Dean sputters, baring his teeth and letting out a roar. “He’s fighting back hard, Cas. He’s pissed.”

Castiel opens his mouth to answer, but the bunker door opens and Sam is there, not even stopping for pleasantries. He drags Dean in, barely smiling when Dean lets out a weak, “Heya Sammy.”

“Where is the suppressing sigil?” Castiel asks, throwing the door open to the true interior of the bunker.

“The bottom,” Sam gasps. “Hurry!”

Dean seizes, roaring, and as Castiel tears down the stairs, a wave of grace washes through the room. Looking back, Castiel is horrified to see Sam tumbling down the stairs, landing at his feet.

Michael is smirking at the top, breathing hard. “You poor fucking angel. What did I tell you about _next_ time?”

“There isn’t going to be one.” Castiel hits the sigil and again, Michael yells before stumbling and falling—falling over the railing.

“NO!” Castiel screams and with every ounce of grace left inside of him, thrusts his hand out and catches Dean.

Dean’s body stops midfall, and Castiel has to let go, collapsing into a shivering mess.

The drop won’t be as significant as from the top, but he can hear Dean moaning after he hits the floor.

“Cas?” Sam is stricken between helping him and Dean, but Castiel let’s out a croaked, “Dean,” And Sam goes running.

Castiel is prone on the floor, numb. Maybe Michael’s grace still has a hold on him, after using his grace to such an extent. Desperation was the only thing that pushed his grace to Dean, and now it’s feeble. Castiel either needs time to let it heal or it needs to come out.

“Sam,” he breathes. “Sam.”

“Hold on, Cas, I- I have to—”

“We’ll take him to the dungeon,” Mary’s voice says. “Jack lined the entire route with the sigils. Go help Cas. We will need his help.”

“Okay… Be careful. Dean? Are you good?” Sam asks.

“C-cas.”

“God, you two are killing me.” But Sam pounds over to Castiel. “What can I do?”

“Take out my grace, Sam,” Cas says, eyes falling shut. “Saving Dean from the fall made me weak, and it will take too long for it to replenish.”

“A-are you sure?”

“It will heal.”

Sam finds a vial and a knife, and it’s too much like Michael over him, slicing his neck. He waits for lips, but his grace leaves altogether on its own, seeking the cavern of the glass tube. Once it’s gone, Castiel is suddenly more awake, settling into his body fully, sitting up abruptly.

“Thank you, Sam. Let’s go cast out Michael.”

Sam leads him to the dungeon quickly. “Ketch is down there with the generator. Mom and Jack are still trying to see if the spells we found will weaken Michael enough for Dean to cast him out.”

“What about the vessel? I don’t think Michael is able to enter an empty vessel.”

“It’s not an empty vessel,” Sam says quietly.

Castiel’s hand clamps down on Sam’s arm. “Excuse me?”

Sam’s eyes flick to the floor. “Cas…”

He understands then.

“No. I won’t let you. That is the worst idea I can think of.”

With those puppy eyes Dean often talks about, Sam continues towards the dungeon. “It’s the only way.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Sam Winchester.” Castiel forces Sam to stop, staring at him. “How dare you do that to your brother. To _me_. To your mother and Jack. What are we supposed to do?”

“Kill him.” Sam’s eyes start to water, but his mouth is set.

“No.”

“Look, Cas--”

“ _NO!_ ” Cas yells.

Sam is startled into silence.

“I might not be able to kill Dean, even if it means doing the right thing, but that doesn’t mean that I would be fine with your death. I love you Sam, more than I ever loved any of my other brothers, and I will never hurt you intentionally. Never. So, no, this _is not an option_.”

Sam stares at him, teary eyed.

“Go grab Michael’s other vessel. He will be able to possess that.”

Castiel turns and the door looms. The door swings open slowly.

Chained by his wrists to the ceiling, ankles to the floor, is Michael.

He laughs when Castiel walks in.

“That was quite a show you put on, angel.”

Ignoring him, Castiel moves towards Mary and Jack. “What spells are you trying?”

Jack flips open a dusty book a marked page. Pointing, he says, “This one says that it will drain an angel of their power for about a minute. We don’t know whether it will work on an archangel, though.”

Studying the spell, Castiel nods. “It will. We must do this as we use the hyperbolic generator.”

“No it woooon’t,” Michael sings, jiggling the chains above his head.

“Any others?”

As Jack and Mary explain four more possible spells, one of them false, another in accordance to the angel’s vessel rather than the angel himself, Michael taunts them.

“Dean hates you,” he hisses. “He’s in pain right now, the worst he’s ever felt, and it’s all because of you, Castiel.”

Hearing that makes Castiel shiver. “Stop it, Michael. It’s no use.”

“Of course it is! Without your grace you’re more susceptible to mine, Castiel.”

Turning, Castiel bites his lip to keep from shouting. “You never had me under your spell, Michael,” he says as he walks forward to stand in front of him. “I never trusted you. All you did was lie.”

Castiel turns to leave, but suddenly Michael has his arm hooked under Castiel’s jaw. “It was me all those times, you know,” he murmurs next to Castiel’s ear.

Castiel freezes. “You’re lying.”

“Mm, you really think saying his _name_ will pull him out? Oh dear.” Michael laughs lightly, just as Mary comes and wrenches him free from Michael’s arm.

“Don’t get close to him,” Mary whispers as she pulls Castiel away. “He lies more than he tells the truth.”

“I…” Castiel slides into a chair.

Michael continues speaking, saying, “When I get out of these chains, I’m going to kill you,” and “Dean is dead. None of this matters.”

It’s terrifying, because what if he’s telling the truth?

When Sam comes back, dragging the old vessel, Michael laughs so loud Jack startles back into Mary. He continues laughing, head dropping forward. “You fools. You utter, incompetent fools. You think you can tear me away from my true vessel? That you can dispose of me?”

“Yeah. I think we can,” Sam says, glaring.

“Well, what’s the point if Dean’s gone?” Michael grins before squeezing his eyes shut.

He begins to fold in on himself, grunting, and Castiel gasps when blood starts to stream steadily from his nose. “Shit! What the fuck is he doing?” Sam yells.

“He-he’s killing Dean.” Castiel acts fast, heart racing, and he tears the beginning scab off the cut on his palm with his fingers, throwing his hand on one of the suppressing sigils.

Michael immediately goes limp, hanging by the chains, and then it’s Dean, breathing roughly. “Fuck,” he grumbles.

Castiel moves to him, taking his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Dean. Michael isn’t giving up.”

“Don’t I know it.” Dean coughs, and blood spreads over his lips. “Can’t hold on much longer. Everything hurts.”

“Yes you can, Dean,” Sam says, voice full of passion, empowerment. “Michael isn’t going to win. We won’t let him.”

Dean shudders. “Guys… might have to kill me, ya know?”

“No,” Castiel says. “No, Dean. That isn’t going to happen.”

“It’s too much, Cas.” The last time he heard Dean sound this broken was in a hospital, covered in cuts and bruises, not able to look Castiel in the eye. “Let me go.”

“I will never let you go, Dean Winchester.” Castiel keeps Dean’s head up, gazing into his eyes. “Sam will never let you go, and neither will anyone else who loves you.”

Dean doesn’t have the energy to argue or even roll his eyes. He curls in his shoulders, and again, it’s Michael. Sam pulls Castiel away as Michael spits out blood. “The more you push me away, the weaker he gets,” Michael groans vehemently.

“We have to do it _now_ ,” Mary says, pulling her son and Castiel to the table. “If we wait any longer, we’ll all be dead, including Dean.”

That snaps them all into action, and Castiel keeps his emotions at bay, sticking his mentality into putting together two different spells. Jack reads the steps and helps him throw the ingredients together. Ketch appears, looking weary with a cast on his arm, the hyperbolic generator in hand. “I just charged it to its full capacity,” he says, handing it to Sam. “We have one shot.”

“We always have one shot,” Sam says sadly.

“How many times do I have to tell you that _it won’t work_ ,” Michael says. He pulls at the chains, glaring daggers.

“We’ll see.” Castiel turns to Mary, who is posed and ready at the last sigil, blood dripping down her wrist. “Is everyone ready?”

“Yeah.” Sam is shaky, and Jack is staring down at the match in his hand, lips reciting the spell quietly.

“Okay. Let’s begin.”

Michael scoffs, tilting his head. “I told you, you’ll regret the next time you try to cross me, Castiel. I’m going to kill you slowly.” 

“Now, Jack.”

Jack automatically begins speaking with a strong voice, focused on the spell. This one is a shot in the dark, supposedly able to paralyze Michael’s grace. When he drops the lit match into the bowl, Michael limpens and along with that, Castiel’s body involuntarily convulses. “W-whoa.”

“Castiel?” Jack asks.

Castiel’s mind clears completely, and that’s when he realizes he hasn’t been thinking like himself since Michael took him. The Archangel’s grace vanishes and Castiel looks at _Dean_ , lips parting. “Oh-oh.”

“What is it?”

“Michael’s hold on me has left completely.” Castiel grips the table. “That doesn’t matter though. Sam, Mary, get ready. As soon as I complete this spell, you both need to start.”

“No,” Michael moans.

Castiel recites clear and concise, quickly pouring blood and oil into another bowl next to Jack’s spell, lighting another match and dropping it into the strange mixture. As soon as the flames rise, Mary slams her hand into the sigil while Sam raises the egg-shaped device, reciting the exorcism rapidly.

Castiel pulls Jack over to Sam and Mary follows too, gripping Ketch’s arm, and it’s like a strange moment of waiting, watching as Michael lets out that same terrifying roar before Dean gasps back to the surface.

“Dean, it’s time to cast him out,” Sam says. “The generator Ketch gave us will help, but Dean, we need your help.”

Dean just looks at them; then, with a sickening course of anxiety that rushes through all of them, he smirks.

Castiel’s heart falls as Sam makes a broken noise.

“Look, this has been fun,” Michael says. Rolling his head, he wrenches the chains from the ceiling, and with a snap of his fingers, the cuffs around his ankles shatter. “But the party’s over, and it’s time to put this piss-poor job out of its misery.”

Michael flicks his wrist, and they all go flying, except Castiel who is now on the floor. Sam hits a shelf, knocking it over. Mary and Jack hit the wall, staggering, but when they start to move towards Castiel, he says, “Take Jack and go. Please.”

She listens to him, Ketch alongside her, and while Jack yells, “No, Castiel!” Michael breaks the cuffs circling his wrists, nonchalant, much too calm with streaks of blood marking his face and clothes.

“You should have just—” Michael holds up his arms, tightening his fists, shaking his head. “You should have just _listened_ , Castiel. Things would be so much easier, and I wouldn’t have to kill the only people you love.”

Michael’s shoes echo as he steps towards Castiel, and when Sam starts to rise, another flick of his fingers and Sam is groaning against the wall. “You think you can save everyone, Castiel. Even after everything you’ve done, there’s still something inside you that yearns to prove yourself.”

Castiel recalls all the pain he’s felt at the hands of Michael and his punishment. It flashes through his body, and he’s still, everything inside of him simply giving up. _I can’t save Dean. I can’t do it. I love him more than anything and yet, I can’t save him._

Tilting his head with that evil smirk, Michael slowly sinks to one knee and then the other. “Now, it’s just the matter of what to do with you. Maybe… let you watch as I kill everyone, including Sam Winchester, before letting you die a slow and painful death? Or,” Michael thrusts out his hand and his blade materializes. “I could let you live forever within Heaven’s cell until you rot from guilt. Ah, that one sounds truly brutal.”

“Cas, you have to--” Sam’s voice cuts out.

“Perhaps I should just keep you with me. I mean, Dean’s much more compliant with you around. And your grace is useful. Mm, maybe we should check on that…” Michael leans down and leaning on one elbow, cuts Castiel’s neck.

There’s a short period of Michael’s eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What…”

“I don’t have any more grace left for you,” Castiel says, offering a patronizing smile.

Michael’s eyes flash and the next thing Castiel knows, he’s screaming so loud that Michael clamps a hand over his mouth. “Shhh, shh, let’s not have the other come running down. This is between you and me.”

The churning pain shuts off like a switch inside of him and Castiel is gasping lightly as he tries to bring oxygen in. He’s shaking uncontrollably, his body in a fit, and Michael laughs. “I must confess, I admire your tenacity. Even after being thrown from a window and having your body break apart, you still defied your own wellbeing for this stupid human.”

Again, Castiel’s body is in a shock of pain as Michael places his palm flat on Castiel’s chest. It’s as his bones are being broken all at once, then turned over, burning to ash. Who knows how long Michael will let the pain continue.

“That’s enough, Michael.”

Everything stops, suddenly, and tears stream from Castiel’s eyes. He can’t seem to look anywhere but the swinging lightbulb above him.

He only hears Michael’s bewildered silence and his Father’s voice.

“Father.” Michael moves away from Castiel, looking frightful.

Castiel hears Sam drop to the floor, groaning, and he has no idea what to feel when he sees Chuck Shurley’s face above him, set in an empathetic frown. He touches Castiel’s forehead and he breathes drastically, rolling onto his side and clutching his chest.

“C-Cas,” Sam says, moving towards him. He pulls Castiel away from Michael and God who are simply looking at each other; his Father with a disapproving stare and Michael, surprised and afraid.

Castiel is too, but ultimately, he’s relieved.

His absent Father has returned, and Castiel is probably an idiot for feeling a rush of excitement and calm.

Sam keeps his fingers locked around Castiel’s wrist as he stares. There are tears in his eyes, stains on his cheeks. “Is Dean okay?” He asks, pulling himself and Castiel up, staring at God.

Chuck finally breaks eye contact with Michael, gazing at Sam. “Your brother is fine, Sam. In fact…” He snaps his fingers, and in an instance, Michael falls to his knees and white light pours from his mouth. It swirls through the air before entering his old vessel.

Castiel doesn’t think of anything else. _Dean, Dean, Dean._

With Sam at his heels, they race to Dean’s body. He’s unconscious but moaning quietly. “Dean?”

“He will be out for a while,” Chuck says. “But Dean is okay.”

“Thank you, Father,” Castiel whispers, cradling Dean’s head in his lap.

Chuck smiles. Then he turns to Michael, who is now back in a broken body, attempting to stand. Looking at him now, he means nothing to Castiel. He feels no desire to protect or obey him for the sake of Dean, because Dean is _here_ , in his arms, breathing softly.

“Now,” Chuck says, voice stronger now, “we have some things to discuss, Michael.”

Michael stares at their Father, before catching Castiel’s eye.

With a snap of his fingers, God and Michael disappear.

-

“Shit, he’s heavy,” Sam strains, hands white under Dean’s arms.

Castiel smiles, because suddenly that’s the best thing he’s heard in months. They finally make it to Dean’s bedroom, setting him gently on top of the covers. He’s still completely out, lips parted, and it’s antagonizing—Castiel has to resist the urge to kiss him senseless.

When Castiel looks up at Sam, he grins, and that’s when Sam starts to sob.

They sit at the edge of Dean’s bed, Castiel resting one hand on Dean’s knee while he circles an arm around Sam’s shoulders, letting him cry into his shoulder.

“He’s safe, Sam. We have him back.”

“I can’t go through this again,” Sam sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Castiel is reminded of Sam as a child, afraid of the dark, of being without Dean by his side.

“We don’t have to. As long as you both quit being complete imbeciles.”

Sam laughs, snorting.

“Thanks for sticking with him, Cas. I know it was…” Sam lifts his head, pushing back his hair, and Castiel gives him a sad smile.

“It was worth it.”

They both look over at Dean, who is now snoring lightly.

“I’ll stay here with him,” Castiel says. “Perhaps you should fix us all something to eat. I’m sure Dean will be hungry when he wakes.”

Sam rises, stretching, wincing. “True. I have to call everyone and tell them it’s safe to come back.”

“Yes. They’ll be so happy.”

“Tell me when he wakes up right away, okay? Everyone will be harping on him soon enough, and I wanna get there before them.” Sam winks before limping out, whistling as he walks down the hall.

Watching Dean carefully, Castiel pulls over a chair and sits gingerly, attempting to not startle him. Despite being locked away inside his own mind for such a long period of time, Dean must be exhausted after Michael’s punishments and being brought out over and over from the suppressing sigil. Castiel would feel awful to wake him too soon.

He simply takes Dean’s hand between his own and waits.

-

“Cas. _Cas._ ”

Castiel feels someone shaking him awake, and he has the urge to scowl until he realizes it’s Dean.

Opening his eyes, Castiel gasps at Dean’s familiar grin, the crinkles gathered at the corners of his eyes, that spark he had missed within them. “Dean!”

Castiel pulls Dean into his arms as much as he can, holding him close, not planning on letting go for a very long time.

“I missed you, Dean,” Castiel says softly, stroking Dean’s hair, breathing in his scent. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened. I should have tried harder to save you.”

“You _did_ save me,” Dean says, voice sounding parched. “I’m here because of you.”

Castiel keeps his eyes squeezed shut, just breathing into Dean’s neck. Then, with a broken voice, he finally asks, “Was it you? All those times…”

There’s complete silence, and while Castiel’s heart drops, Dean pulls away.

It feels so right to look into those soft green eyes, but Castiel can’t appreciate it fully as they stare at one another.

Then Dean is nodding his head, sucking in a shaky breath. “Yeah, Cas. Fuck, _of course_ it was me.” His hands come up to Castiel’s face and there’s no reprieve as he slots their mouths together.

Castiel is sure both of them want nothing more than to kiss for an eternity, but Dean eventually settles back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Dean. Shut up.”

That brings out the lovely laugh Castiel has been missing.

“Please, get some rest. Sam is making you something to eat. And you will need the energy with which to speak to and console him.”

Dean smiles as Castiel tugs off his shoes, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders.

He bends over and tears fill his eyes as he presses a lasting kiss to his forehead.

Castiel thinks Dean is asleep already as he heads towards the door, but just as he is about to step into the hallway, Dean’s voice calls out to him softly.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

There’s a slight pause. “How do you feel about the beach?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on an aftermath fic for this where um spoiler
> 
> YES THEY GO TO THE MOTHERFUCKIN' BEACH MKAY
> 
> they deserve happiness
> 
> and guess what?
> 
> it isn't just team free will attending the party...
> 
> <3<3<3


End file.
